BONES (and how not to dispose of them)

When Sydney decided to do in the wife,

he knew that he wanted her under the sod,

(she’d caused him, he moaned, a lifetime of strife),

but he couldn’t think how to dispose of the bod.

A fan of John Haigh, the MO was writ large,

so sulphuric acid it entered his mind.

But would it dissolve all the pieces of Marge

or leave some traceable bits behind?

Syd plotted and planned for almost a year.

‘How’s about, Marge, we get us a hog?’

he said to the wife, ‘just the ticket, me dear,

to go with the chickens and Brutus the dog!’

Marge was delighted (she’d always loved hogs),

and thus with no qualms she quickly agreed.

So armed with a drill, lots of screws and some logs,

Syd constructed a snug little sty as decreed.

‘Lovely!’ cried Marge, eyeing Fat Bill,

envisaging bacon and bangers and brawn.

Every morn she went out to feed him his swill

(for dinner ‘tween  trotters and ham she was torn)

But one day whilst admiring her ungulate friend

as he wallowed and snuffled in muck and the mire,

Syd crept up behind her and kicked her rear end,

and over she toppled - the future looked dire…

Plod, called out to the scene the very next day,

could only shout out ‘bloody hell!’ and ‘good grief!’

for after much prodding, and to his dismay

he had to concede there was nothing but teef!

For Syd in his hurry to kill Marge the Pest

had forgotten the most vital thing, in the heat.

Pigs’ll eat all the flesh and the bones (and the rest),

but they’ll never consider the choppers a treat.